July 31.
Forty degrees of heat in my apartment! My weakness is extreme, on account of the strict diet the doctor ordered me. This will explain to you the brevity of my talk with you this morning.
Last night I saw "Le Docteur noir;" it is the height of stupidity, of mediocrity in its saturnalia. I got to bed at one o'clock and did not rise till nine. I have just returned from the post-office; no letters, alas! 'Twas a soldier of the "Medusa," looking out on the horizon and seeing nothing, who came back without letters just now! Well, I must read and correct my proofs.
Passy, August 1, 1846.[1]
I have your letter! it is the great event of my life. In it I see two atrocities; 1st, "Do not come, you would be so bored;" 2nd, "You do not think enough of your health; you let yourself be worn-out by frantic work; do take a little more diversion; amuse yourself." Bored with you! amuse myself without you! Is that enough insult and injustice? Am I required to refute them?
I am quite well again this morning and I wish to announce that news for a beginning, so that my dear troupe may feel no more uneasiness about its illustrious leader.
My doctor is coming to dinner to-day with Méry (one of your believers), Léon Gozlan and Laurent-Jan. That ought to fully reassure you; I am now only a man without strength, food, or appetite. But the intestines are all right again, I believe; and next week I shall finish with the "Constitutionnel."
[1] To Madame Hanska, at Kreuznach.
August 2.
Dear fraternal soul, I have just finished "Le Parasite," for such will be, as I told you, the definitive title of what I have hitherto called "Le Bonhomme Pons," "Le Vieux Musicien," etc. It is—to me at least—one of those fine works of extreme simplicity which contain the whole of the human heart; it is as grand as the "Curé de Tours," but more clear and quite as heart-breaking. I am enchanted with it; I will bring you the proofs, and you must tell me your impressions. Now, I am going to work on "La Cousine Bette," a terrible novel, for the principal character is a composition of my mother, Madame Valmore and your aunt. It is the history of many families.